


if home is where...

by vwritesaus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, EDIT: ok so in light of ch402 this is now an au, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Haikyuu Mini Bang 2020, Homesickness, M/M, Memories, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reminiscing, Reunions, Slow Burn, Swearing, University woes, When will I learn, Work Woes, hooray for disorganised and vague tags, inspired by post time skip, mentions of other haikyuu characters - Freeform, semi canon compliant, there are some spoilers for post time skip in the manga mentioned in this fic so please be aware!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25138960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwritesaus/pseuds/vwritesaus
Summary: Issei_Mattsunsure, if you say sobut like i said, any time after 6don’t be a strangerAfter nearly two and a half years of radio silence, sprinkled in with a birthday wish and the usuallet’s catch up soontext every full moon, Hanamaki feels that he and Matsukawa have actually reverted back to being strangers.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44
Collections: HQ Mini Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PHEW
> 
> have you ever had an idea that was suitable for like, 7k, but then it runs away from you and you end up with a monster fic instead? 
> 
> so this is the fic that i've done for the HQ Mini Bang! it's inspired by the time skip that's happening in the manga rn, but loosely, because i started writing this before the Iwa reveal so... semi canon compliant??   
> (Edit: now definitely an au thanks to ch402 hahahah)
> 
> i'm paired with the amazing [Sarah](https://twitter.com/sarahartzzz), whose patience i appreciate so much and who was so lovely to work with!! Her piece will be linked in the last chapter of this fic, so please stay tuned for her gorgeous piece!! ~~i am dying to this day, it's so good you guys~~
> 
> also a huge shout out to [Luka](https://twitter.com/LukasTreeHouse) and [Melly](https://twitter.com/rosevtea) for betaing!! You guys are the best and apologies for my late-night writing errors (there were a lot)
> 
> i'll be updating this regularly, but in the meantime, go ahead and check out the other brilliant works in the collection :D

**[Issei_Mattsun is online]**

**Issei_Mattsun**

hey

did you hear?

Oikawa’s coming back

**[Makki_Taka is online]**

**Makki_Taka**

Yeah holy shit

Found out literally two minutes ago

**Issei_Mattsun**

this calls for embarrassing him at the airport

big poster and all

**Makki_Taka**

You read my mind

I’ll get the glitter ready

**Issei_Mattsun**

of course

we’re not friends for nothing, Hiro

and fuck yes, get every kind of colour

this shit is gonna be a colour bomb

Oikawa will hate it

Hanamaki can’t help the sad smile that forms on his face as he reads the message.

**Makki_Taka**

We can’t call ourselves worthy friends of  
Oikawa’s unless we make something  
extremely ugly for him

I’ll come round tomorrow with everything

If you’re free?

He stares at the small _Issei_Mattsun is typing…_ in the corner of his screen as the fingers of the hand not holding his phone drum against his desk. The sound of his short nails hitting the laminated surface is loud, drowning out the white noise of traffic and the daily hustle and bustle of Tokyo beyond his bedroom window. Hanamaki tries to focus on the sound rather than on the stingy feeling crawling up his chest, but Matsukawa's newest message tears his attention away:

**Issei_Mattsun**

i’m off work around 5 tomorrow so any time  
after 6 is fine. i can get paper and all that  
crap at work, so you just bring the glitter and  
maybe some truly hideous tape

The snort that leaves him is unexpected and hurts his nose a little, but Hanamaki is quick to type back:

**Makki_Taka**

Not myself as well? What a shame,  
I was hoping for a reunion, babe!

But the glitter and tape I can totally  
do. I know a great place where I can  
buy them. Just you wait, they’re so bad

‘Ah, shit, why did I send that?’ he chastises himself immediately once the message is gone… off into cyberspace it goes. He never thought that things would come to this, but Hanamaki finds himself second guessing everything he’s sending to Matsukawa. What if he accidentally crosses a line he didn’t even know existed? What if Matsukawa doesn’t find his humour funny anymore and starts to take everything he says seriously? Relief floods him, however, once his screen starts filling with a string of short messages, coming out in many grey bubbles.

**Issei_Mattsun**

i thought you were part of the package?

of course you as well! i’d love to see you

you know… been a while and all

work and uni and shit

life

and no Oikawa to drag us out

And just like that, Hanamaki stops overthinking things and lets his thumbs fly over the keyboard.

**Makki_Taka**

Fuck, when did we get so boring

Iwaizumi’s gonna have a field day

Wait, speaking of Iwaizumi

Does he know Oikawa’s coming back?

**Issei_Mattsun**

yeah, he’s the one who told me

wait, who told you then!?

**Makki_Taka**

Oikawa

**Issei_Mattsun**

bastard! he told you but not me?

sent Iwaizumi off to do his dirty  
work as usual, i see

just for that, we’re making this thing  
extra ugly

**Makki_Taka**

In that case I better buy some beads.  
You know the ones. Plastic and tacky  
and neon pink.

**Issei_Mattsun**

yes

get a whole packet, we’re putting  
the entire thing on this damn poster

**Makki_Taka**

I’ll get two just in case

And for the record. I’d love to see  
you too. Aside from fb and what not  
I can’t remember what you look like

That is a very serious problem

**Issei_Mattsun**

haha likewise. you still have that  
terrible haircut?

**Makki_Taka**

Excuse you, that was a look!

But you’ll just have to wait  
and see

**Issei_Mattsun**

sure, if you say so

but like i said, any time after 6

don’t be a stranger

Laughing softly to himself, Hanamaki signs off with a brief _see you tomorrow_ and dumps his phone on his desk with a clatter. Letting out a heavy sigh, his eyes rake over the open medical textbook, page 497 jumping out at him from the bottom corner, and the stack of journal articles he has yet to start reading.

Yet all that bounds around in his head like some lovesick puppy are the words _don’t be a stranger_.

After nearly two and a half years of radio silence, sprinkled in with a birthday wish and the usual _let’s catch up soon_ text every full moon, Hanamaki feels that he and Matsukawa have actually reverted back to being strangers.

It’s a feeling that doesn’t sit well in Hanamaki’s stomach _at all_.

For the first time in these two and a half years—or rather, in his whole life—Hanamaki feels dread taking over everything in his body at the thought of seeing another person.

* * *

Hanamaki stands in front of Matsukawa’s apartment door at exactly 6:07pm the next day, a white, bulging calico bag held tightly in his hand. True to his word, he had raided his local art and craft shop earlier that strangely cold, September afternoon, and the bag was now filled with at least seven kinds of glitter, three rolls of patterned sticky tape and two packets of plastic gem beads that were a shocking pink.

But what Hanamaki doesn’t want to admit is that he had actually gotten there at 6:03pm and has been standing outside the damn apartment for nearly five minutes. Had it been high school, Hanamaki wouldn’t have bothered with formalities, would have just (maybe) knocked once and then enter with a yell, bow in Matsukawa’s parents’ direction before racing towards the back where he knew Matsukawa’s room was.

He physically can’t remember the last time he had done any of that. Maybe it was a month or so after Oikawa had left for Argentina? Before he, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa had decided to leave Miyagi in favour of Tokyo? After Matsukawa had moved into this very apartment three months into university?

Ah… since when did he think so much? He is hanging around Iwaizumi far too often. That man has more rationality than him, Oikawa and Matsukawa put together. But who knew these days? Maybe Matsukawa is a _serious_ man now. Maybe Iwaizumi has rubbed off on him, judging from the fact that Iwaizumi had reached out to Matsukawa. Do they hang out a lot? Probably… Hanamaki recalls something about Iwaizumi and Matsukawa having mutual breaks…

Sighing to himself, Hanamaki grips the handles of the bag tighter and grits his teeth. _Calm down, moron. This is Issei! Your bro! Your meme buddy! Just knock, you fucking loser—_

And he does, the sound loud and sharp in the empty hallway. His knuckles smart and Hanamaki forgets to breathe once he hears movement within the apartment. The door opens before he realises it’s been unlocked and suddenly everything is too bright.

His first thought is _shit, his smile._ The second fizzles out into nothing when Hanamaki feels warmth around his entire body. He stiffens, having not expected a _hug_ of all things, but Matsukawa’s already pulled back by the time Hanamaki comes to his senses.

Matsukawa’s taller than Hanamaki remembers—damn him—and his hair is so long it’s falling into his eyes. But still curly, still black, still sporting that undercut from high school. He looks as though he’s just gotten out of the shower for he’s wearing a loose T-shirt and what look like very comfortable trackpants. Hanamaki suddenly feels a bit overdressed in his jeans and bomber.

‘Long time no see, Hiro,’ Matsukawa drawls as he steps aside for Hanamaki to enter. ‘I’ve been beginning to think you were just a figment of my imagination.’

Scoffing loudly, Hanamaki slips off his shoes and hangs his bomber on a hook in the genkan, handing Matsukawa the calico bag as he does so. ‘I’m honoured that you fantasise about me, Issei, but I can assure you, I am very real.’

Matsukawa’s grin is wide and cheeky, and Hanamaki can tell he’s keen to look through the bag he’s just been given. But what he says is, ‘Nice hair, by the way. Much better than that awful cropped mess you had in high school.’

‘You _loved_ my cropped mess,’ Hanamaki retorts as he runs a hand through the rosy brown thing in question. ‘But I thought I’d let it grow out and see what happened. _You_ need a haircut, though. Can you even see through all that?’

‘Shut up, yes I can. I just washed it so it’ll bounce back up once it dries.’

It’s amazing how easy it is to fall back into bantering, and Hanamaki kicks himself for stalling outside for so long. There isn’t a single bit of tension or awkwardness in the air and it’s the most relaxed Hanamaki has felt in a long time—that fast, and he’s only been in here for about two minutes.

_Why—why has it taken us this long to see each other again?_

Matsukawa peeks down at the bag and then through his eyelashes at Hanamaki. ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

Hanamaki smirks broadly and holds out his hand for the bag. When Matsukawa passes it to him with a pleased hum, Hanamaki grabs it and gestures in a way that says _lead the way_. Then Matsukawa’s back is to him and he’s following the man down the little hallway into the main living space.

He’s presented with a relatively neat room: a kotatsu with a teal blanket sits in the middle, right in front of a couch; a huge, pale green plastic bag is on the tabletop, a tube of what can only be paper sticking out; there is a stack of DVDs by a wooden entertainment unit (one that has seen better days, with its scratches and chipped edges); a console lies rolled up in its own cord next to the stand of a small television, and Hanamaki notes with delight that Matsukawa’s collection of _One Piece_ and _Naruto_ figurines from Sendai are still on display.

If anything, the place hasn’t changed at all since the day Matsukawa moved in, save for a few little touches, like that grey curtain covering the main window and the black, cubed bookcase filled with textbooks and a few manga series. It makes him smile: if the place hasn’t changed in the past two and a half years, then perhaps Matsukawa hasn’t either. There’s some hope after all, it seems.

It’s confirmed when Matsukawa sits himself down on the floor in front of the kotatsu, drumming his palms against the wooden surface in an anticipated drumroll and eyes shimmering in excitement. Hanamaki wastes no time in sitting down next to him and turning the calico bag upside down; the items fall with tumultuous clattering, and Hanamaki has to catch one of the tubes of glitter before it rolls off. Setting it back with a satisfying _clunk_ , Hanamaki watches as Matsukawa picks up one of the rolls of tape with wide eyes. 

‘I—’ he stutters in disbelief, ‘—a-are those—?’

Hanamaki can’t hide the grin that takes over his mouth.

‘Chickens? Hell yeah. Just because Oikawa went to a new country and big city doesn’t mean he should forget his country boy roots.’

Matsukawa barks out a laugh, expression gleeful as he clutches the tape with both hands. Hanamaki picks up another and shows him the cartoony straw hats that decorate it, eliciting another loud laugh from Matsukawa.

‘Fuck, Hiro, these are perfect,’ he says, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘I especially like these—gorgeous, amazing, so ugly—’

He drops the chicken-tape and holds up the two packets of pink gem beads. Hanamaki bows his head.

‘Thank you, my good sir,’ he drawls. ‘I am glad that you are pleased with my goods. Now come on, lemme see yours—’

Matsukawa bats away Hanamaki’s grabby hands with a chuckle, plastic bag rustling loudly as his fingers fiddle with the straps and pull out whatever’s sitting in it. Next thing, a curled, A3 poster paper whose blue colour resembles the one that decorated their high school volleyball uniform, two bottles of PVA glue, shimmery confetti pieces, a box of coloured markers and a large, partially opened envelope lay scattered over the tabletop. Hanamaki’s eyes immediately zero in on the envelope, his silent question of _is that what I think it is?_ answered through Matsukawa’s knowing look.

‘The occasion calls for it, I reckon,’ he says as he takes the envelope and opens it all the way, the tearing sound loud in the quiet room, ‘so I took the liberty of getting these printed specially. I think Oikawa would appreciate them, don’t you?’

As Matsukawa holds the contents up in his hands, the fronts facing him, Hanamaki chokes on his own breath and starts laughing. The items are a selection of photographs, all starring Oikawa Tooru in varying poses and expressions; Hanamaki can see his, Matsukawa’s and Iwaizumi’s faces in a few, but Oikawa’s warrants a presence that cannot be overlooked.

‘Oh my god, Issei,’ he gasps, grabbing one that’s poking out from the edge of Matsukawa’s hand. ‘These are _gold_ —but where’d you get them? I thought only Oikawa had this one?’

He waves around the one between his fingers: it’s of Oikawa at their high school graduation, diploma in his hands, eyes puffy and red, and turned-down mouth graced with tear tracks. Hanamaki remembers the indignant _I’m not crying, arseholes!_ _It’s high school, why would I cry?_ after the photo had been taken, followed by the demand that the photo be deleted immediately or at least be sent to him and _then_ deleted.

(None of them wanted to admit that they had all shed tears.)

Matsukawa’s lazy grin turns fierce.

‘Let’s just say Iwaizumi had some favours to repay.’

Pressing his palms together, Hanamaki murmurs, ‘Our man Iwaizumi out there being the real MVP.’

Mirroring Hanamaki’s position, Matsukawa shoots him an excited look.

‘Shall we get started then?’ he asks, smile growing wider when Hanamaki answers him with a furious nod. That’s all it takes for them to make semi-organised piles and roll out the blue paper, using the box of markers and both packets of gem beads as weights to keep the edges from spiralling back in.

The rest is easy. They’ve done this before many times, after all, for both Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Making something purposefully ugly is an art form in itself, one they believe they had mastered back at the beginning of their second year with their masterpiece for Iwaizumi’s seventeenth birthday. So it’s second nature for them to assort the photos in a strategic pattern that allows for everything else to shine too (literally, given the glitter Hanamaki is absolutely dying to spill all over the paper alongside Matsukawa’s shimmery confetti pieces).

The main message is decided in two minutes flat ( _Have you seen this man? Last seen 2.5 years ago_ ) and four minutes later, Hanamaki is outlining his pencilled kanji in alternating purple and green markers with nothing short of devilish anticipation.

(‘Your kanji is better than mine,’ Matsukawa had told him matter-of-factly. ‘Mine’s still shaky as hell and while we want this to look hideous, my kanji will ruin it.’)

But what Hanamaki finds even easier than the poster-making is the conversation between them. Topics fly left, right and centre, the flow seamless and laughter loud and genuine as they work away on the task at hand. It’s as if them being apart for nearly two and a half years never happened. It’s as if they’re back in high school, giggling amongst themselves as they work on Oikawa’s birthday poster.

Hanamaki’s glad that nothing’s changed between them, humming to himself as he carefully draws up the characters. He’s not going to admit out loud that he’s missed his best friend, but he’s missed his best friend. While he has nothing against Iwaizumi, who he sees more than some of his classmates at university, it just isn’t the same. It isn’t the same as this, being with the guy who just _gets_ him in ways he didn’t think could be understood. All it takes for a silent conversation is a couple of exchanged looks and broad grins. Hanamaki doesn’t have that with Iwaizumi. Matsukawa isn’t Iwaizumi, and now that they’re here together again, Hanamaki feels lighter.

Bit of a weird conclusion, but he’s not going to question it. The two and a half years absence can get stuffed. He’s never felt better.

‘Hiro.’

Hanamaki hums in response to the sudden voice, eyes on his outlining.

‘You did your ears again.’

That makes him pause, marker pressed against the paper at the bottom of a character. He quickly lifts it and scowls inwardly at the dark spot left behind. But he turns to Matsukawa, taking in a mildly astonished expression, complete with high eyebrows and unwavering gaze.

‘Uh… yeah.’ Hanamaki’s fingers instinctively reach for the shell of his ear, fiddling with the rings and studs that line it. ‘Yeah, I did.’

(In his head he’s thinking _didn’t I have these last time I saw him?_ )

‘When? I don’t remember you having four.’

Hanamaki’s heart skips a beat.

‘Oh, like… a year ago.’

‘Huh.’ Matsukawa pulls the corners of his mouth down and nods appreciatively. ‘Nice. They look good.’

‘Thanks.’ Hanamaki wants to say more, maybe something along the lines of _hey, did we really not see each other for_ this _long?_ but he points at Matsukawa instead. ‘I see you just stuck with those.’

‘Yeah, not very keen on piercing cartilage, thanks,’ Matsukawa grumbles, his own fingers reaching up and fiddling with the two black studs that sit in his lobe. ‘Seems painful—but I guess it was a breeze for you, _It-Doesn’t-Hurt_ -sama.’

‘It really didn’t, Issei! Not my fault you’ve got sensitive ears _and_ that you got more than one done in the same day!’

He laughs at the glare Matsukawa sends his way.

(He remembers the day well: they had gone out for lunch on the Saturday before their very first week of university and Hanamaki had stated that he needed to get his second ear-piercing done again. _I_ _left it too long without putting any jewellery in, so it’s closed up_ , he had told Matsukawa, and the pair had walked into the nearest beauty salon in their local shopping centre. It had been a split second decision on Matsukawa’s behalf to get piercings too— _they look cool and I’ve always wanted them_ —and upon Hanamaki’s insistence that it doesn’t hurt, he had sat upon the raised bench so the beautician could reach him.

Hanamaki can still see Matsukawa’s pained and betrayed expression when the piercing gun went off in his mind’s eye even now. It makes him smile. But it's Matsukawa’s own fault to get _four_ done at once, so he’s not surprised that it did end up hurting after all.)

‘In any case, I’m happy with two each. I can barely pick jewellery for these let alone six—holy shit, _nine?_ Oh my god, Hiro—’ Matsukawa replies, eyebrows stuck near his hairline when Hanamaki shows him that his other ear has had the same treatment. ‘But… I did do something else, though.’

Hanamaki tilts his head to the side, curiosity thrumming through him.

‘Oh? Like what?’

‘It’s a secret.’ Matsukawa presses a finger to his pursed lips. ‘You can’t tell anyone about it, okay?’

Hanamaki frowns deeply and spouts out the first thought that comes to him. ‘You haven’t joined the yakuza, have you?’

Matsukawa snorts violently and shakes his head. ‘No, definitely not. Who has time for yakuza when there’s fifty assignments sitting on your head all at once?’

Grimacing, Hanamaki mutters _don’t remind me, you jerk_ , resulting in Matsukawa letting out a soft chuckle. But then he’s asking, ‘Okay, but for real, what is it?’

There’s a furtive glint in Matsukawa’s eyes. ‘I’ll show you but seriously, promise me you won’t tell anyone!’

‘Alright, geez, I promise, now show me already, you tease—’

He cuts himself off when he realises Matsukawa’s fingers are fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt, and next second, he’s watching the fabric slide up over Matsukawa’s side, revealing more and more skin until he’s staring at an adorned ribcage.

Hanamaki drops the marker the same time his jaw hits the floor.

‘Holy fuck, Issei. Holy _fuck_.’ Poster forgotten, Hanamaki swivels around so he’s facing Matsukawa front-on and leans in to take in the detailed image coloured in black ink on tan skin up close. ‘Holy shit, your mum is going to kill you.’

‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,’ Matsukawa grumbles from above him, ‘and she’s an extra reason why you cannot tell anyone. I’ve managed to keep it to myself for five months, so please don’t blab to anyone, alright?’

Hanamaki merely waves him off, too busy taking in the _insane_ gradient of curling smoke around a budded ume branch. It’s not a huge tattoo, probably around the size of Hanamaki’s closed fist (an apt measurement, if he says so himself), but it gives off the effect that the wispy edges of the smoke cloud stretch onto non-inked skin and that with enough sunlight, the buds will bloom into numerous dark-pink flowers.

It’s beautiful.

What’s worse, it looks like it belongs on Matsukawa’s ribcage.

Swallowing thickly, Hanamaki glances up at him.

‘You’ve definitely joined the yakuza.’

Matsukawa’s squawk of _I have not, you dickhead!_ and him shoving his T-shirt back down is barely registered, Hanamaki instead focusing on the odd pangs in his chest. Getting a tattoo is not an easy thing to do, nor is it something that someone does on their own. Had they not had this time apart, Hanamaki knows Matsukawa would have told him about it. Maybe they would have picked the design together and Hanamaki would have gone with him to the studio and held his hand, because a tattoo is so much more painful than four fucking ear-piercings.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he sends Matsukawa a soft grin.

‘I like it, Issei,’ he tells him gently. ‘Never took you as a flower kind of guy, though.’

Staring at him silently for a few seconds, Matsukawa sighs through his nose and mirrors Hanamaki’s smile.

‘Neither did I, to be honest.’ He runs his hand through his damp curls. ‘But when I saw the design, I knew I had to get it.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘Nah, just thought it looked cool.’

It’s such a Matsukawa thing to say that Hanamaki automatically shoves him, the responding cackle music to his ears. It quells the stirring sensation in his stomach. For now.

The rest of the evening goes by too quickly for his liking, but the end result of their _welcome home Oikawa_ poster looks epic. It’s their best work yet. He leaves Matsukawa’s apartment in high spirits and with a promise to see him at the airport seven-thirty sharp in two days’ time.

He walks to the train station with the promise that he’ll never let them go through another extended period of time of not seeing each other ever again. He wants to be there this time if Matsukawa decides to add another piece of art on his body. He wants to be there, period.

* * *

Iwaizumi keeps glancing over at them every five seconds, his expression crumbling more and more each time. Hanamaki knows he’s trying to keep a laugh down—in fact, everyone who passes them by do the exact same thing. They hide their growing smiles behind their hands and try to pass off snorts as coughs.

None of this fazes Hanamaki as he peers over people’s heads, eyes focused on the exit. It’s empty for the time being and he relaxes a little bit.

‘Hey, let me know when you see Oikawa so we can put this thing up, yeah?’ he aims at Iwaizumi, whose response is a simple nod.

‘Hm? No comment, Iwaizumi?’ Matsukawa pipes up from beside Hanamaki. He, too, has been eyeing the exit. ‘You haven’t said anything since you came! I’m hurt, man.’

‘Truly gutted,’ Hanamaki adds and sticks out his bottom lip. ‘We spent a whole day on this thing, y’know!’

That seems to do it for Iwaizumi for he doubles over, a palm flying to his mouth as his shoulders begin to shake. The pair watch him as he snorts and as he starts tearing up when he lifts his head to look at them.

‘It’s so _fucking_ ugly,’ he manages to choke out.

Hanamaki beams at Matsukawa.

‘It’s perfect, then!’

‘Of course it is,’ Matsukawa tells him matter-of-factly. ‘ _We_ made it, after all.’

Iwaizumi spirals further, not bothering to hold back his laughter as he throws his head back and smacks a hand on his chest. Hanamaki and Matsukawa share a grin.

It’s a quarter-to-eight in the evening and the airport is stagnant. There seems to be only a few people scattered about in the Arrivals section and light chatter fills the air. Matsukawa’s and Hanamaki’s lovingly-made poster for Oikawa sticks out like a sore thumb, especially in comparison to the balloons and teddies that other people—“normal” people, as Iwaizumi would say—are holding for their loved ones.

(Hanamaki and Matsukawa had arrived as promised: seven-thirty sharp with Oikawa’s poster tucked under Matsukawa’s arm. Iwaizumi had shown up not too long afterwards, greeting them with a good-natured grin only to fall silent at the sight of the poster. This is the first thing he has said to them in the fifteen minutes they’ve been here.)

‘Honestly, I don’t know how you guys do it,’ Iwaizumi mutters, coughing slightly as he tries to catch his breath. ‘Every single year…’

‘Practice, honey.’ Hanamaki bats his eyelashes at him. ‘That, and we do it with love. It’s a real power force, y’know.’

‘It’s tradition now,’ Matsukawa says. ‘Can’t not do it—and hey, thanks again for supplying the grad photo.’

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen in horror. ‘Just don’t tell him you got it from me.’

‘Wouldn’t dare!’

The blank look Iwaizumi shoots his way summarises his thoughts of _I know you better than that_ , but Hanamaki finds himself zeroing in on Iwaizumi as he glances down at his phone nervously, nails drumming against the plastic backing.

‘Hey.’ When Iwaizumi locks eyes with him, Hanamaki asks, ‘What’s up? You look off.’

‘Ah… it’s nothing, really,’ Iwaizumi replies, voice low. ‘It’s just… Hm. Guess I’m picking up the courage?’

Hanamaki gasps.

‘You’re gonna do it? Holy shit, you’re actually gonna do it?’

‘Do what?’ Matsukawa repeats.

‘Confess to Oikawa!’

‘Oh my god, Iwaizumi—’

‘H-Hey, wait a second!’ Iwaizumi’s hands are up in surrender, Godzilla phone cover facing them. ‘Don’t get ahead of yourselves! I _might_ confess. Have to read the atmosphere first.’

‘Fuck the atmosphere, Iwaizumi,’ Hanamaki gripes, ignoring Iwaizumi’s hissed _hey!_ ‘Just suck it up and do it already.’

It’s an all too familiar conversation. Ever since their second year of high school, Iwaizumi has been badgered by Hanamaki and Matsukawa to get over himself and confess to his childhood friend. The excuses have been plentiful: _not yet, need to find the right moment_ ; _no, Inter-High’s coming up, don’t wanna distract him_ ; _nah, can’t do it now because it’s just not the right moment—_

Hanamaki’s sick of hearing them. Iwaizumi should have done it long ago yet here he is: standing in the middle of Arrivals looking like he was about to get eaten, fingers fiddling with that treasured Godzilla case. It’s a poor sight, really.

‘You should have confessed at graduation, y’know,’ Hanamaki states plainly. ‘It was the perfect opportunity.’

‘What, and then have him change his mind over going to Argentina and pursuing his dream?’ Iwaizumi scoffs. ‘Yeah right.’

‘We all know that Oikawa is not _that_ fickle, Iwaizumi,’ Matsukawa says.

‘Yeah, well… it is what it is and I’ll find the right moment, alright?’ Iwaizumi snaps, but his voice lacks its usual bite.

A momentary pause follows.

‘What’s the bet Oikawa has a tan now?’ Matsukawa muses. ‘Sun-kissed… freckly…’

‘Real handsome,’ Hanamaki adds, catching on to Matsukawa’s blatant direction. ‘Would be hard not to confess to a beauty like that, eh? Maybe that’s all it’ll take for you to loosen your tongue.’

Despite the growing blush on his cheeks, Iwaizumi frowns deeply and tells them in a firm tone, ‘We’ll see how the night goes.’

Both Matsukawa and Hanamaki let out a sigh, but it’s Matsukawa who says, ‘That’s what you said last time.’

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond and the conversation ends there. Three sets of gazes land on the empty exit, watching for a head of chestnut brown to appear.

* * *

Upon walking into Matsukawa’s classroom, Iwaizumi’s neutral expression collapses into one of shock as, Hanamaki guesses, he takes in the large poster he and Matsukawa are holding up towards the doorway. He then bursts out laughing, walking up to the pair and pointing at the beautifully handmade, A3 sized thing in question.

‘Oh my god,’ Iwaizumi wheezes, dropping his bag on the floor by their desks. ‘Oh my god, he’s going to _kill_ you both.’

Hanamaki’s grin is broad and wicked as he states, ‘Did he really think that just because we were semi-nice with _your_ birthday poster that he was going to be spared? In his dreams, Iwaizumi.’

‘It’s a big day, y’know,’ Matsukawa pipes up, his own smile equally mischievous. ‘It needs to be one he remembers for the rest of his life.’

Iwaizumi’s gone in seconds, clutching at his stomach and pressing his forehead against the edge of the desk. It makes Matsukawa and Hanamaki choke on their own laughter in anticipation.

The poster is a dark yellow colour, decorated with the words _Happy Birthday! You’re now elderly!_ in thick black marker, filled in with a horrendous pink. There’s the number eighteen scattered around the paper in varying shades of blue and green and orange, in the corners and in any available space that isn’t covered by glued-on photos of the birthday boy. The photos themselves are bordered with stars and circles, some with large confetti pieces and others with sliver, speckled glitter. Oikawa is the main face in all the photos, and none of the candid pictures capture him in his _model_ element.

‘Fuck, he’s going to murder you for this one,’ Iwaizumi says when he recovers a little bit, placing a finger over a photo of Oikawa that’s more the bottom of his nose than any other part of his face, cross-eyed and pink tongue trying to touch the tip of said nose.

When he notes which one Iwaizumi is looking at, Hanamaki snorts loudly. ‘That’s not even the best one—look—’

Iwaizumi clamps a hand over his mouth and snickers into his palm when he sees it: Oikawa sitting up in his futon, hair stuck up in a million different directions and puffy eyes open in mere slivers, bottom lip out in a dejected pout and pillow lines all over his cheeks and neck. It’s one of the cuter ones, Hanamaki has to admit, but he knows Oikawa would rather eat dirt than let anyone see him like this.

Hanamaki is about to show Iwaizumi yet another Oikawa gem when Matsukawa hisses, ‘Shit, he’s coming, he’s outside, quick—’

Sure enough, Oikawa is standing near the door, chatting up a storm with some female classmates. They have just enough time to straighten the poster and for Iwaizumi to fish out his phone and start recording before Oikawa steps into the room. When he does, the three of them scream out birthday greetings and he jolts in shock.

Oikawa’s shriek as his eyes land on the poster can most certainly be heard from Tokyo.

* * *

Oikawa’s reaction upon seeing the poster isn’t, in fact, one of disgust or horror, and there is no shriek to be heard from Sendai.

He had emerged from the crowd wheeling a light blue suitcase by his side and gripping the strap of his backpack with a blank face. Once his eyes landed on the truly ugly poster, Oikawa had frozen in his spot, nearly causing a couple to crash into him from behind. Then he had started laughing, clutching his stomach as he had tried to make his way over to the trio. It was once he was a few metres away from them that they realised Oikawa was also crying.

‘It’s hideous. I love it,’ he had said after promptly squeezing them all to death—especially Iwaizumi, Hanamaki had noted—and had added with a nostalgic air to his voice, ‘glad to see some things haven’t changed.’

The poster has since been rolled up and wedged between the wall and Oikawa’s leg in the corner of the table the four were sitting at. He hasn’t stopped talking from the moment they had reunited, but for once, Hanamaki isn’t annoyed by the sound of his voice. His tales of Argentina and volleyball are so intriguing he has actually been listening, and had even let out a sound of surprise at Oikawa’s mention of seeing Karasuno’s Number 10 in Brazil.

‘I couldn’t believe it myself, at first,’ Oikawa had said as they entered the izakaya, ‘but it was definitely him. He’s grown a lot, you know. I’m really happy for him.’

That was about half an hour ago. Now, the four had tucked into a number of dishes, fighting over bits of food like they were back in high school. The only difference now is that they’re in Tokyo and they’re not dressed in their volleyball uniforms. It’s weird, Hanamaki thinks, how casual they all are. They’re _adults_ now. Oikawa’s just gotten back from _Argentina_. He, Matsukawa and Iwaizumi were _two_ _years and a half years_ into their _university degrees_. It’s one of those moments were reality kicks one in the face and forces them into a kind of existential crisis. But Hanamaki tries not to think about it as Oikawa leans back in his seat with a calm smile on his face.

‘Anyway, enough about me! I wanna know what you lot have been up to!’ he says. ‘What’s been happening these past two-and-a-bit years?’

Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Iwaizumi all exchange a worried glance. It’s all on their minds: Oikawa’s gonna lose it when he finds out they haven’t been keeping touch with each other. They had promised him, after all, that they would make up for his absence by hanging out a lot. So at his question, they look at him sheepishly and let out a soft _ummm_ in unison.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve all been hermits since I left?’ At their silence, Oikawa groans dramatically and pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Honestly, I leave you for two—’

‘Oh, shut up, Oikawa,’ Iwaizumi grumbles, shoving Oikawa lightly but enough to warrant a shocked squeak. ‘Shit got busy…’

‘Yeah, Medicine’s _hard_ , y’know,’ Hanamaki pipes up, ‘and you know, work is time-consuming—’

‘—and you’re studying at the same time—’ Matsukawa adds.

‘—right? And you need to sleep, so that takes up a lot of time out of the day—’

‘—so you’re left with very little time for socialising, which ends up not happening because you don’t have mutual breaks,’ Matsukawa says with a wave of his hand.

‘Exactly,’ Hanamaki finishes and grabs his glass of water, peering over the top of it at Oikawa’s surprised expression as he takes a sip. ‘Plus you _are_ the organiser, so when you left, no one wanted to take the responsibility. It felt wrong… meeting up without you there…’

A subdued pause follows, broken only by the clamour of the izakaya, the chinking of plates and loud talking between other restaurant-goers. It is true though, what Hanamaki said, for he, Matsukawa and Iwaizumi had _tried_ to meet up—and they had succeeded a few times—but it never felt right with an empty fourth seat between them. So they shifted to meeting up in pairs: Iwaizumi and Hanamaki saw each other frequently for study sessions due to their similar degrees, and it appears that Matsukawa and Iwaizumi kept in touch as well. But that connection between himself and Matsukawa became frayed around the edges, held together only by a desire to see each other again but interrupted with daily life and shit time management.

_What a life_ , Hanamaki thinks. _What a life where I can’t even see my best friend_.

Oikawa lets out a soft breath and his eyes, for once, are softer. Hanamaki notes the smattering of sunspots along the corners and files it away in his mental _get Iwaizumi to confess_ box.

‘I get you,’ Oikawa says, choosing to prop his elbows on the table. ‘It’s not easy… Can’t say I know exactly what you’re going through, but I can sympathise—that, and it’s obviously not easy to organise something when the life of the party isn’t around to make it fun!’

At that, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa instantly let out an exasperated groan each.

‘And here I was thinking for a moment that you were going to say something profoundly nice for once,’ Iwaizumi grumbles.

‘Iwa-chan, I am _always_ nice!’

That’s all it takes for both of them to descend into their usual bickering, Oikawa’s voice squeaky and offended, and Iwaizumi’s sharp but full of a warmth that Hanamaki can feel despite it not being aimed his way. An image flashes before his eyes: the izakaya is replaced with his old classroom, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa are in their uniforms. It lasts for only a second before Iwaizumi’s back in his denim jacket and Oikawa’s in his blue button-down.

Some things really don’t change.

Hanamaki can’t stop the fond grin that forms on his face.

‘Welcome home, Oikawa.’

Oikawa pulls away from Iwaizumi’s glinted stare and catches Hanamaki’s eye. A resulting smile crawls along his mouth and for a moment he looks shy. Hanamaki knows better, though. They all do.

‘Honestly, it’s good to be home,’ Oikawa replies in a murmur. ‘Sure, Argentina was cool, and seeing Shouyou in Brazil was a nice reminder, but nothing beats this.’ 

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Matsukawa says, picking up his glass and holding it between the four of them. ‘To no place like home.’

A shared laugh fills the space and four glasses chink against each other in a wordless _cheers_.

* * *

Tucked away in the corner of the study space a week after Oikawa’s return to Japan, Hanamaki finds himself scowling at his textbook as he wrangles it out of his backpack and dumps it on the table in front of him. A six-hundred page slab of complicated names and a ridiculous amount of technical terms, it is too much to have to focus on this time of the morning, and taking a quick glance at his phone, Hanamaki groans quietly.

It’s only eleven-fifteen.

The day has just begun, and his seven o’clock finish seems further out of reach than before. With that, Hanamaki fishes out his glasses and opens his textbook with a few muttered curses.

Wednesday is the worst day for him this semester: nine o’clock start with a lecture that drags on for what seems like six hours rather than two; an hour break that flies by faster than what he’d like; a three hour tutorial with a tutor who likes to torture him no matter what subject of his Hanamaki takes; another break, this time two hours (which in reality is his extremely late lunch break, because the tutorial finishes around three o’clock followed by an insanely long queue at the student microwaves even at this time of the day); and then another two hour lecture that Hanamaki is ashamed to admit he never pays attention in since it’s so late in the day and he’s nodding off instead of taking notes. 

But it’s not _all_ bad, he supposes. At least he has Iwaizumi to keep him company during his breaks—and there he is now, walking towards him from the top of the stairs, clutching a stack of books against his chest. Hanamaki gives him a small wave just as his phone vibrates loudly against the surface of the table, and he looks down to see Matsukawa’s handle displayed on his screen.

Not bad at all now he’s got Matsukawa back in his life.

The messaging drought is over. Ever since they’d met up to make Oikawa’s poster, Hanamaki has been greeted with a photo of Matsukawa every morning (him at work, in a lecture, at home if he has a free day) and it’s no different now when, upon opening the message, Hanamaki is meet with the bottom of Matsukawa’s nose. Underneath it is the caption _client/liaison meeting—this should be interesting_. Hanamaki remembers vaguely about a project Matsukawa’s been doing at work with some architecture firm and factors that in when he snaps a photo of his books and types _Ah good luck. Are they nice at least?_

He shoots off the reply just as Iwaizumi lets his pile of books fall onto the table with a smack.

‘Mornin’, Hanamaki,’ he greets, words punctuated with a stifled yawn. ‘How was your lecture?’

Hanamaki’s responding groan has Iwaizumi smiling.

‘ _Awful_ , as usual,’ Hanamaki mutters. ‘I swear the bastard is purposefully trying to make us fail. But how was yours?’

Iwaizumi drops into his seat and waves a vague hand.

‘That good, huh?’

‘Yep.’ Iwaizumi rubs his eyes. ‘The topic is interesting enough but the lecturer doesn’t make it easy to concentrate first thing in the morning.’

‘Shame,’ Hanamaki sympathises. He points to the books. ‘Assignment?’

Nodding, Iwaizumi glances at them forlornly. ‘Due in two weeks, but it’s a lot of reading so I better get started on it now.’

‘So responsible!’ Hanamaki looks at his textbook and sighs. ‘But I know the feeling…’

‘Someone save us from this torture.’

‘Literally!’

Sharing a soft laugh, the pair shift through the pages of their books in silence. It takes reading half a sentence to tell Hanamaki that his concentration levels today are completely botched. He hears Iwaizumi chuckle as his head hits the glossy paper.

‘Giving up already?’

‘I quit,’ Hanamaki whines. ‘I’m tired of reading. I just wanna go to sleep, Iwaizumi. _Help meeee…_ ’

‘You want me to knock you out?’

‘Can you actually? I can hand in a special consideration.’

Iwaizumi snorts loudly. ‘I don’t think getting smacked in the head is enough to get a special consideration, Hanamaki.’

‘You’re no help, Iwaizumi.’ He lifts his head from his textbook to send Iwaizumi a blank look just as he remembers a small detail. His grin is wicked as he says, ‘But I know how you _can_ help.’

Iwaizumi’s expressions turns worried.

‘How?’

Sitting up straighter, Hanamaki rests his cheek in his palm and tells him, ‘You can tell me how confessing to Oikawa went. You never said! It’s been a whole week, arsehole. Gimme the details!’

After they had left the izakaya the day Oikawa had returned, the four had gone their separate ways: Hanamaki and Matsukawa went towards the train station, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa had decided to _catch up some more_ , as Iwaizumi had put it. No doubt it was because he was planning to confess, so Matsukawa and Hanamaki mutually agreed through a silent look that they would keep their usual teasing to themselves this time. Instead, they had waved them off, and Hanamaki had sent Iwaizumi a sneakily mouthed _good luck_ as he and Oikawa turned to head down the opposite direction.

So things must have gone well, right? Yet Hanamaki’s thinking _maybe not_ as Iwaizumi visibly pales and immediately averts his gaze.

‘Iwaizumi?’

‘I, uh… I didn’t end up doing it.’

Hanamaki slams his hands on the table, the smack incredibly loud in the silence of the library, and shrieks out a _what!_ before he can stop himself. He throws a sheepish look at those who send a glare or a shake of the head his way, and then lands his gaze on the man sitting opposite him.

‘Why ever not?’ he hisses. ‘You were so keen!’

‘Yeah, well,’ Iwaizumi starts, crossing his arms taut against his chest. ‘Wasn’t the right moment, alright?

‘Hah, we both know there’s more to it than _that_ ,’ Hanamaki grouses. ‘What’s the big deal, man?’

‘I told you,’ Iwaizumi repeats, ‘I need to find the right moment. That night wasn’t it. It just… it just needs to feel right here.’

His tone is final, but Hanamaki takes in the shaky hand that rests over the spot where Iwaizumi’s heart sits.

Breathing out heavily through his nose, Hanamaki smiles kindly at his friend and gives concentrating on his medical textbook another go.

He should have known this would happen. This is Oikawa and Iwaizumi, after all: the two thickest and dumbest people he knows, their obliviousness the most obvious, and their rock-hard feelings for each other not in need of a microscope in order to be noticed.

For now, Hanamaki leaves it alone.

The rest of the hour goes by quicker than Hanamaki would like, but as he packs up and waves goodbye to Iwaizumi— _I’ll see you later, okay? Meet me by the microwaves!_ —Hanamaki can’t help but think that the pieces are slowly falling into place.

(And as he opens Matsukawa’s latest message, laughing at the absolute blank expression that greets him along with _client is a motherfucking pain in the arse, but the architects are the best people ever_ , he skips to his next class with a light heart.)

Things are going back to normal, just as they should be.

* * *

20:43

Thurs, XX September

\---

**[Oikawa_Tooru is online]**

**Oikawa_Tooru**

Makkiiiii!!

Hope you’re not eating that textbook of yours!

Iwa-chan, Mattsun and I are meeting up  
tomorrow afternoon for lunch. Wanna join?

We’re going to that café near the university

You know the one

They have profiteroles?

Iwa-chan said you go there a lot

**[Makki_Taka is online]**

**Makki_Taka**

Ah… the temptation of profiteroles

But I’m afraid I can’t

I am, as you say, eating my textbook

Got an assignment due tomorrow  
midnight which, I am ashamed to  
say, I am nowhere near finishing

Next time?

**Oikawa_Tooru**

Don’t eat paper, Makki, it’s bad for your  
health

And awww that sucks

But sure, next time we’ll get you

Good luck with it!!

**Makki_Taka**

Paper has many nutritional  
benefits, what are you saying?

But thanks man. Hopefully we’ll  
catch up again soon

**Oikawa_Tooru**

It’s disgusting

And don’t worry

I’ll drag you out to join us if I have to

Now shoo! Finish that assignment off  
and then we can haaaang

**Makki_Taka**

But it’s nourishing

I don’t doubt that for a second

Say hi to everyone for me and  
I’ll catch you later

**Oikawa_Tooru**

Yuck

Will do!!

Byebye~

15:21

Sun, XX September

\---

**[Iwaizumi_Hajime is online]**

**Iwaizumi_Hajime**

hey

Matsukawa and I are meeting up  
tomorrow for hell session and  
campus dinner

wanna join our misery?

**[Makki_Taka is online]**

**Makki_Taka**

Sounds fun bro

What time?

**Iwaizumi_Hajime**

  1. we’re thinking of finishing around  
either midnight or 1



**Makki_Taka**

Ah dammit I can’t

I start work at 7

Night shift

**Iwaizumi_Hajime**

on a Monday?

shit man, that sucks

**Makki_Taka**

Yeah

Sadly my boss doesn’t seem to  
care that I’m a student and have  
a lecture Tuesday morning

**Iwaizumi_Hajime**

honestly you should report him

how many times has he done this?

**Makki_Taka**

I would but I need the money.  
Medicine is not cheap

And too many, Iwaizumi. Too many

**Iwaizumi_Hajime**

geez

rant to me on Wednesday?

**Makki_Taka**

Of course, my good sir

Say hi to Issei for me and you  
kids have fun tomorrow

**Iwaizumi_Hajime**

yeah “fun”

but I will. you take care of yourself  
at work and stay hydrated. eat  
something too, will ya? I know you

just cuz you’re at work doesn’t mean  
you can’t eat. and a night shift is taxing  
so you better have at least a muesli bar  
or something to keep you going  
  


**Makki_Taka**

Yes mum

**Iwaizumi_Hajime**

fuck off

see you Wednesday loser

**Makki_Taka**

Bye Iwa-chan!

**Iwaizumi_Hajime**

oi

**Makki_Taka**

(｀▽´)

22:04

Wed, XX September

\---

**[Issei_Mattsun is online]**

**Issei_Mattsun**

Hiro

hey Hiro

wake up

**[Makki_Taka is online]**

**Makki_Taka**

Bro I am awake

What’s upppp

**Issei_Mattsun**

oh hi

so i have an hour and a half  
long break at work tomorrow  
and i was wondering if you wanted  
to meet up and have coffee with me

**Makki_Taka**

Coffee is delicious

Where and what time

**Issei_Mattsun**

coffee is what keeps me going

but Chuo station around, say,  
12:30? i’ll meet you there and  
lead you to heaven

**Makki_Taka**

Heaven with you sounds amazing,  
but…

**Issei_Mattsun**

don’t break my heart, Hiro

don’t say you can’t

**Makki_Taka**

I have a three hour lecture and  
tutorial combined… and it starts at  
12…

**Issei_Mattsun**

noooooooo

**Makki_Taka**

I’m sorry my love

**Issei_Mattsun**

i'm devastated

but for real what the fuck is up  
with your schedule

do you have any free time

like at all

**Makki_Taka**

Nope

Study is my life now and forever

**Issei_Mattsun**

i refuse to accept that

i’ll kidnap you one day

if just to hug you

**Makki_Taka**

Issei…

I’ll cherish that hug for the rest  
of my life

**Issei_Mattsun**

good

so you better hurry up and find a  
free moment to get it

**Makki_Taka**

So demanding!!

But I’ll try

**Issei_Mattsun**

trying is good

but ah it’s late

better go and get ready for an early  
start. you go to sleep too. don’t think  
i don’t see you on fb instead of sleeping

**Makki_Taka**

Wouldn’t you have to be on fb  
too to see that in the first place?

**Issei_Mattsun**

no…

**Makki_Taka**

HAHA

Go to sleep liar

**Issei_Mattsun**

goodnight you bully

**Makki_Taka**

Sweet dreams baby

**Issei_Mattsun**

⌈▓͟⌉ꆟ)ꍞ

**Makki_Taka**

(:˒[￣]

**Issei_Mattsun**

⌈▒͟⌉ꅼ)ꍞ

**Makki_Taka**

ISSEI GO TO SLEEP

**Issei_Mattsun**

Σ(°ロ°)

okaaaaay

**Makki_Taka**

(´ε｀ )♡

**Issei_Mattsun**

(⺣◡⺣)♡*

**[Issei_Mattsun is offline]**

**[Makki_Taka is offline]**

Letting his phone fall with a clatter on his bedside table, Hanamaki runs a hand down his face and sighs deeply. He can just make out his cluttered desk in the dark and the sight of it makes him huff and pull his blanket over his head.

It seems like things going back to normal isn’t going to happen any time soon, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa opens his big mouth and Hanamaki gets a reality check.

Oikawa and Hanamaki are having a quick lunch together in between classes after almost a week of failed meetups and Hanamaki declining invites. Hanamaki is about to stuff a huge piece of karaage chicken in his mouth when Oikawa asks on that sunny October afternoon, ‘So what’s going on with you and Mattsun?’

Hanamaki blinks at him, chopsticks pausing midway. He stares at Oikawa for a second before he munches on the chicken and says around the mouthful, ‘What about us?’

Rolling his eyes, Oikawa places his own chopsticks on top of his bowl and leans forward on his elbows.

‘Don’t play dumb, Makki, Iwa-chan told me everything,’ he chastises, pouting slightly. ‘But sure, I’ll be frank. I expected Iwa-chan to be all antisocial and unavailable to meet all the time, but you and Mattsun? Not in a million years.’

Chewing slowly, Hanamaki breathes out a sigh through his nose. What the hell did Iwaizumi tell him to cause this interrogation? Bastard.

‘We told you, Oikawa. We’ve all been busy.’

There’s a pause before Oikawa says, ‘That never stopped you in high school,’ and Hanamaki feels the bottom of his stomach disappear. He suddenly can’t look Oikawa in the eye, dropping his gaze to the arrangement of soy sauce and vinegar bottles in the centre of the table. He hears Oikawa hum but he can’t bring himself to make eye-contact when he starts speaking again.

‘Even when you had three essays due in a week, you two still managed to hang out.’ Oikawa’s voice is soft, not harbouring _the tone_ which Hanamaki and Matsukawa have labelled the times when Oikawa was being a know-it-all. ‘Even when Iwa-chan and I were having our differences and didn’t sit together at lunch or whatever, it was always you two who told us to suck it up and get over it. Out of everyone… I thought once I left you guys would keep Iwa-chan in check and make sure he didn’t overwork himself, when in fact it seems it was the other way around. So what happened, Makki? Did you two fight or something?’

Hanamaki tucks his lip between his teeth and peeks up into Oikawa’s worried face.

‘Nah,’ he finally mutters after a moment. ‘S’ far as I know, we’re fine.’

‘So why the distance?’

Hanamaki doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know how. He knows Oikawa doesn’t buy the “didn’t have time” excuse (even though it’s the truth) so he doesn’t know what he wants to hear. But then Oikawa makes a surprised sound, one that states _oh I’ve figured it out_ and Hanamaki decides he doesn’t like that sound at all.

He likes it even less when Oikawa blurts out, ‘You’re in love with him.’

Trying to suppress the scream that is coming up his throat, Hanamaki barks out a laugh.

‘I’m what?’ he scoffs, swiping up another piece of karaage and shoving it in his mouth. ‘Don’t talk stupid—oh wait, you already do.’

He chuckles when Oikawa slaps his arm in offence, but stops when he says, ‘You’re avoiding him, aren’t you? Because of your feelings for him.’

The chicken feels like sand on his tongue as Oikawa’s words sink in. But he manages to swallow it in order to rebut, ‘I haven’t been avoiding him.’

Oikawa’s onto him instantaneously. ‘But you love him?’

‘I _like_ him,’ Hanamaki grumbles. ‘Love is too strong a word. He’s just a friend and we just happen to not have seen each other in a while.’

Even as the words leave his mouth, he’s not entirely convinced of them. Oikawa, he can see, isn’t either.

‘Okay, I won’t push you.’ Oikawa picks up his chopsticks again and reaches over to pick up some edamame. ‘But when you’re ready, I’m all ears, yeah?’

Hanamaki doesn’t say anything, just takes a long sip of water that ends up going down uncomfortably. Later on, when they say goodbye and Hanamaki watches Oikawa go around the corner, that uncomfortable sensation has gotten worse and his mind is racing. It doesn’t vanish even when he’s lying in bed at eleven that night, and Hanamaki finds himself restlessly willing the stupid thing to go away. He wishes Oikawa hadn’t said anything, because now that’s all he can think about.

Is he in love with Matsukawa? Did some part of him subconsciously veer him away from his best friend over the past two years as a means to preserve himself? To avoid rejection? To avoid falling in deeper only to be hurt beyond anything he’s ever known?

He shakes his head, shuts his eyes and turns on his side. But when Matsukawa’s smiling face blooms into colour, with that long hair falling against his forehead and eyes sparkling furtively, Hanamaki buries his face in his hands and groans loudly into them.

_Fuck._

* * *

‘You look like shit,’ is Iwaizumi’s greeting when Hanamaki walks into the library the next morning. Hanamaki merely responds by flipping him off and dumping his bag on the table with a loud thud.

It’s too early for this, he thinks, and too dreary. The sunshine from yesterday had lasted for a total of one afternoon, and that Saturday morning was cold and windy and _pouring_ down with rain. He couldn’t hear it now he was in the warmth of the university library, but he could see the sheet of water beyond the large windows that looked out onto the main library lawn.

Sighing heavily, Hanamaki plops into the seat opposite Iwaizumi and unzips his bag. As he takes out his laptop, a few books and his water bottle, he can sense Iwaizumi smirking at him. Bastard, calling him last minute and making him get up at an ungodly hour in the morning when he _knows_ Hanamaki is _not_ a morning person—

‘Hey, look, sorry for making you get up early,’ Iwaizumi tells him. ‘I would have given you more notice, but you know what Oikawa’s like…’

Hanamaki can’t fight the grin that forms on his face. Ah yes, the same old story—Iwaizumi being weak to Oikawa and giving in easily. It was the whole reason they had shifted their afternoon study session to the morning; Oikawa wanted to kidnap Iwaizumi for lunch and a coffee.

‘I do know, and it’s okay, man,’ Hanamaki reassures him, stifling a yawn as he does so. ‘I’ll live for _one_ day.’

Iwaizumi chuckles to himself and flips over a new page of his textbook. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

‘That sounds promising,’ Hanamaki teases, and his grin widens. ‘Pay me in profiteroles and then we’ll talk.’

Despite the way he rolls his eyes, Iwaizumi’s face is open and smiling. He’s more handsome like this than when he’s frowning and scowling, everything brighter and softer, and Hanamaki honestly wonders how Oikawa hasn’t yet taken the opportunity and professed his undying love for him.

With this in mind, Hanamaki asks while opening his laptop and starting it up, ‘So, have you confessed to him like you said you would?’

Iwaizumi bites his lip and that’s enough of an answer for Hanamaki even as he mumbles, ‘Um… not yet…’

Hanamaki holds his arms out in an _oh come on_ gesture. ‘Seriously, bro? How long are you guys gonna dance around each other, huh? You’ve been crushing on him since fucking high school.’

‘I _know_ that,’ Iwaizumi snaps before he runs a hand through his hair. ‘I just… I need to find the right moment, y’know? Don’t wanna screw it up or anything.’

Resisting the urge to throttle him, Hanamaki types in his password and grumbles, ‘Haven’t you waited long enough, you moron?’

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, casting his gaze on his open books, twirling his pen between his fingers. Hanamaki holds in a sigh, choosing instead to dig around his bag for his glasses case with one hand and thumb through his medical textbook with the other. Once his glasses are on his nose and he’s on the right page, Hanamaki turns to the report he has yet to finish. Thank god it’s due mid-next week, so he still had some time to finalise his overall argument and slot in the necessary sources. He should be able to get most of it done today, if he’s lucky.

But as it turns out, even as he reads over the same sentence ten times, Hanamaki cannot concentrate. His and Oikawa’s conversation from yesterday and now his and Iwaizumi’s overtake everything in his mind, blurring out the importance of workplace hygiene and refocusing on Matsukawa’s stupid face, as well as that feeling which hasn’t really left since last night —

Hanamaki stabs at his keyboard, probably a bit louder than necessary, and chews on the inside of his cheek. The sentence he’s working on probably doesn’t make any sense, and he’s most likely quoting the passage in the textbook incorrectly, but at the moment, he doesn’t care. He needs to get Matsukawa and this whole situation out of his mind as soon as possible, so he continues typing. He deletes words, restructures the sentence somewhat—nope, that doesn’t make sense at all. He grabs his water bottle, the unscrewing of the lid making more noise than it should in the otherwise quiet space, and takes a few sips before screwing the lid back on and putting it on the table.

This goes on for about ten or so minutes before Iwaizumi glances up at him from his work.

‘What’s up with you, man?’ Iwaizumi asks him, frowning deeply. ‘You’ve been on edge since you got here—that’s the fourth time you’ve picked up that bottle.’

_Ah shit._

Hanamaki briefly considers blaming his odd behaviour on the early hour, but there’s really no point in avoiding it, so he purses his lips and says shortly, ‘Oikawa’s been getting in my head without my permission, to be honest. Thanks to you.’

Iwaizumi snorts, clearly unfazed that this is his fault. ‘What’d he say?’

‘That I’m in love with Issei.’

A small sound of surprise hits Hanamaki’s ears, and it reminds him of the same one Oikawa made yesterday before he had announced Hanamaki’s supposed romantic feelings towards Matsukawa. He should have known, because Iwaizumi and Oikawa were attached to the hip and could read each other’s minds ninety-six percent of the time (that four percent was reserved for how they butted heads and couldn’t get over the threshold and start fucking dating already). It pisses him off a bit and he, like he did with Oikawa, avoids his gaze by staring pointedly at his unfinished and very convoluted sentence.

But he’s still not prepared for Iwaizumi’s question of, ‘Well are you?’

‘No,’ is his instant answer, followed by, ‘maybe,’ before he rubs his eyes under his glasses and groans softly. ‘I don’t know…’

There’s a pause before Hanamaki hears the sound of a pen clattering and Iwaizumi’s soft tone.

‘You wanna talk about it?’

Hanamaki peeks through his fingers at Iwaizumi, ignoring the touched flutter of his heart at Iwaizumi being considerate enough to forget about his assignment, and lets his glasses drop on his nose as he removes his hands from his face.

‘What’s there to talk about?’ he starts huffily, and winces at doing something so intrinsically Oikawa-ish. ‘Thanks to your big mouth, Oikawa noticed that Issei and I haven’t hung out that much since he left, and now he thinks I’m avoiding him because I’m in love with him. It’s stupid, because you know how busy we’ve all been with uni and work.’

Iwaizumi nods pensively at this information.

‘He’s kind of right, y’know,’ he says, and Hanamaki pales. ‘And you know I only told him because he was badgering me, right? He was so sure there was something up because you haven’t come to anything he’s organised since he got back. But I always did find it weird how neither of you found the time to meet up, even if it was for five minutes. You did it all the time in high school.’ Iwaizumi hums and picks up his pen to fiddle with it as he continues. ‘It’s like ever since we moved here from Sendai, you guys have been… distant. Even the few times the three of us met up, there was a weird tension between you.’

Hanamaki can only gape at him. This is all news to him. Them? Tension? What on earth is Iwaizumi talking about? He hasn’t felt any tension. He tells Iwaizumi this and Iwaizumi, strangely, looks surprised.

‘For real? Huh.’

‘For real, man,’ Hanamaki insists. He thinks for a brief second before asking, ‘Did Issei say something when you guys met up?’

Iwaizumi shakes his head. ‘Nah, just that he wished he could see you more often. Missed your sarcasm and your terrible haircut.’

Hanamaki cracks a smile and Iwaizumi does too.

‘What do you guys have against my hair? That was a look, thank you very much.’

‘Yeah, it was a look alright,’ Iwaizumi mumbles, laughing quietly when Hanamaki kicks him under the table—or tries to, because Iwaizumi’s bag is in the way. ‘But yeah, I think he just misses you. Kept asking if you were coming whenever we met up.’

‘I’ve missed him too,’ Hanamaki confesses, ‘but I just don’t know what to feel about him right now. Do I love him or is it because I haven’t seen him in so long that it _feels_ like I’m in love with him but it’s just me being happy to see him again?’

‘I’m not sure… maybe you guys should meet and talk things through,’ Iwaizumi suggests. ‘It might clear the air a bit, and you’ll know where you stand.’

‘Yeah… maybe.’

Iwaizumi smiles at him gently and returns to his essay. Hanamaki sighs deeply and deletes the sentence.

* * *

‘ _Yeah,_ nice kill, Iwaizumi!’

‘Thanks, Matsukawa!’

Squeaking shoes, smacks of balls and loud cheers: it’s yet another late afternoon volleyball training session at Aoba Johsai. Hanamaki’s been feeling good about their performance, and as he runs up to Oikawa’s set, his palm smarts as the ball whizzes past Matsukawa’s and Kindaichi’s blocks and lands on the other side of the court with a resounding bang.

‘Nice, Makki!’

His palm smarts further when he slaps Oikawa’s hand in a strong high-five.

‘Nice set, bro.’

‘Damn right.’

Laughing softly to himself, Hanamaki turns his gaze to stare at Matsukawa through the net. There’s a glint in his eyes that reads _I’ll get you next time_ and Hanamaki feels a fire erupt in his belly.

If there’s anyone he hates losing to more than anyone else, it’s Matsukawa. He isn’t going to let himself lose today.

Twenty minutes later, however, Hanamaki is cursing inwardly and somewhat outwardly when the practice game ends with three sets to two in favour of Matsukawa’s team. He watches him, Kindaichi, Iwaizumi and Watari give each other congratulatory slaps on the backs and high-fives, and it isn’t too long after that when Irihata calls them over for a quick meeting. He gives them a few pointers, allowing Mizoguchi to do the same, and the volleyball team ends their session with a brief _thank you, sensei!_ and a quick warm down.

It’s as they’re packing up the plethora of balls and taking down the large net that Hanamaki remembers with a grimace that he now has to go home and do his assignment due the next morning.

_God, how boring._

Bending down to pick up a few balls by his feet, Hanamaki senses a familiar presence looming behind him. He looks over his shoulder and sees Matsukawa standing by with two balls tucked under his armpits and another two in his hands. He watches him dump them all into the blue cart being wheeled around by Yahaba, and then he’s watching dark eyes crinkling into an excited smile.

‘Hey, wanna come over today?’

Ah. What a legend.

Hanamaki shoots Matsukawa a grin, tossing the balls he’s picked up into the nearby cart with enthusiasm—earning a surprised _hey!_ from Yahaba. He answers without any hesitation, ‘Absolutely,’ watching Matsukawa’s face light up in delight.

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, Oikawa’s voice comes up from somewhere next to him. ‘Don’t you have an assignment due tomorrow that you still haven’t done?’

‘Yeah, and?’ Hanamaki turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow in the process.

Oikawa’s frown turns into a blank expression when he adds, ‘So you’re gonna get distracted because you and Mattsun _never_ do work when you’re together.’

‘So what? I’ll take Issei over an essay any day. Besides, it’s mostly done!’

Oikawa lets out a weighted sigh. ‘Makki…’

‘What are you, Oikawa? Our mother?’ Matsukawa laughs at Oikawa’s grimace and says, ‘Relax, Hiro’s _smart_. He’ll get it done.’

‘Issei…’ Hanamaki places a hand over his heart. ‘I’m so touched…’

‘This is the part where you say I’m smart too.’

‘You? You’re an idiot.’

Matsukawa gasps.

‘How rude! I take it back, you’re dumber than Oikawa.’

‘Mattsun!’

In the corner of the gym, Kindaichi and Kunimi exchange a knowing look as their third year senpais fall into a fit of laughter and affronted screaming.

‘A thousand yen that Hanamaki-senpai will get his assignment done during first period tomorrow,’ Kindaichi whispers.

‘A thousand yen that he’ll finish it just before the teacher comes to his desk to collect it,’ Kunimi counters.

‘Deal.’

(Tomorrow’s training session sees a half-dead, slightly regretful Hanamaki amble into the gym, followed by a smug Oikawa and a grumpy Kindaichi shoving a thousand yen note into Kunimi’s chest.)

* * *

The next opportunity Hanamaki gets to see Matsukawa is about a month later, which is far too long, in his opinion. But between assignment deadlines and hectic work schedules, it has been nearly impossible to meet sooner—yet as Hanamaki watches Matsukawa enter the small café that late November afternoon, cheeks pink and chin buried in a thick scarf, he feels warmth spread across his chest.

He waves him over from the corner he had chosen upon coming in, mouth twitching upwards when Matsukawa grins and walks towards him. When he sits opposite him with a brief but smiley _hello_ , Hanamaki realises this is the first time since they had made Oikawa’s poster that they’ve met up alone. He also realises with horror that his conversations with Iwaizumi and Oikawa are filtering through immediately upon seeing Matsukawa’s face.

_No, no, no, go away!—I don’t need you right now—_

‘…Hiro?’

Snapping out of his thoughts, Hanamaki blinks at Matsukawa. ‘Sorry, I spaced out. What’d you say?’

Matsukawa’s fond look makes his stomach flip.

‘All good, but I just asked if you’ve ordered already.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Hanamaki replies. ‘Got us coffee. You still have that extra shot?’

‘Aww babe, you remembered,’ Matsukawa sings, leaning on his elbow and batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. ‘But yeah, I do.’

‘Sweet.’ Hanamaki leans back in his seat, and as such, shoves away Iwaizumi and Oikawa from his mind. Matsukawa is right there and he’s happy and this is bro time, not _hey so I might be in love with you_ time. ‘So how’ve you been?’

Matsukawa’s cheeks puff as he blows out a breath. ‘Alright, I suppose. Just been working and studying a lot. Same old stuff. How about you?’

‘Ah, same…’ Hanamaki scowls when he adds, ‘But my tutor is out for blood. He keeps dumping more weekly quizzes on us because no one’s doing the readings.’

‘Oh shit. But lemme guess…’ Matsukawa begins, voice lilting, ‘you’re the only one who does the readings?’

‘I’m the only one who does the fucking readings,’ Hanamaki whines, pouting when Matsukawa laughs heartily. ‘It’s not fair! Why do I get punished with everyone else?’

‘Tutors do be like that,’ Matsukawa sympathises, but he’s grinning and if Hanamaki didn’t like the sight of it so much, he’d smack him on the arm.

‘Yeah, it sucks,’ is what he says before asking, ‘but anyway, how’s work going? Got any exciting projects happening at the moment?’

Hanamaki listens as Matsukawa details his latest project—including his very colourful thoughts about the clients they’re working for, as well as the new renovation job the firm had received late last week—and it’s effortless how the conversation eventually flows from contemporary-designed living rooms to Oikawa’s and Iwaizumi’s latest escapades.

(During this, Hanamaki is very, very careful _not_ to mention the conversations he’d had with the pair.)

Talking with Matsukawa is the best. Being with Matsukawa is the best. Hanamaki doesn’t need to think when they’re together, doesn’t need to rack his brain for the next topic of interest. It just goes.

Their coffees come, deterring them for a brief moment as the cups and saucers hit the table (and as Hanamaki sneakily ordered a slice of matcha cheesecake); then the conversation picks up where it left off, evolving from the latest memes into discussing pleasant high school memories.

(‘Hey, remember when Kyoutani tried to put a bug in Oikawa’s sports bag but it then flew into his face?’

‘Yeah I do! That was a case of karma biting back _hard_. Oh—and when Kindaichi tried to surprise Iwaizumi with a dead-on block but got spiked in the chest instead?’

‘Bro, I was _crying_ for days after that happened! He was so red and he kept apologising even though he was the one who got hurt.’

‘The kid’s crushing on Iwaizumi, we know this.’

‘True. Oh, speaking of Iwaizumi, remember that one time you two were arm wrestling and the table collapsed beneath you because you were too close to the edge?’

‘Don’t hurt me like this, Issei. I try not to remember such things.’

Matsukawa laughs.)

They talk, they laugh, they share Hanamaki’s matcha cheesecake when it arrived ( _hey, I wanna try, can I have a bite?_ ), they forget about the time and everything happening around them; but before Hanamaki knows it, the café is closing for the day and they are making their way out onto the footpath, scarves wrapped around their throats and hands retaining the warmth of the café in their pockets.

The sky is painted in brilliant hues of black and indigo, leaving faint streaks of orange-pink upon the horizon. Stars are splattered across the expanse, dull glows blinking at them through the halo of the city lights and Hanamaki can make out the edge of the moon behind one of the surrounding skyscrapers.

It’s too close to the end of the day now that Hanamaki finds himself wishing that they had more time to hang out. But at Matsukawa’s _hey, should we head to the station?_ Hanamaki accepts the fact that their little meetup must come to an end tonight. Both have work tomorrow, and it’s with a heavy heart that Hanamaki follows Matsukawa as they head towards the nearest train station.

Hanamaki forgets about it for a moment when Matsukawa glances at him and starts talking again, rambling about another quick high school memory he’s just recalled. The words barely register in Hanamaki’s mind, eyes too focused on what’s happening on Matsukawa’s face: the combination of streetlights and moonlight create sharp angles along his cheekbones and jawline, and a large silhouette is cast upon his cheek by his nose; his hair, slightly shorter since Hanamaki had last seen it, hovers over his eyebrows and gently grazes the ends of his eyelashes, covering his eyes in a soft shadow.

Matsukawa is all dark edges and black adorned features, but Hanamaki is drawn by the blinding—although lazy—smile that tugs the corners of his mouth, and the shimmering starlight that resides in his eyes highlight every single emotion that they show.

It shouldn’t be like this, Hanamaki’s heart stuttering at the sight of his best friend in the moonlight—and yet he feels the tug in his chest, the desire to reach up and push away Matsukawa’s fringe so he can see his eyes better, to have them focus on him and only him. The thought of waving Matsukawa goodbye at the station sooner rather than later overrides his conscience and he opens his mouth.

‘You wanna stay over tonight?’

The question is out before he can stop himself and Matsukawa pauses, looking bemused as his eyes shift to Hanamaki’s face. Before Hanamaki can berate himself for it, Matsukawa answers with a soft, ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. Your place is a bit far from work and I gotta get up early.’

Hanamaki tuts loudly and exclaims, ‘Are they paying you what they should? You’re working a lot for a student, y’know.’

Matsukawa merely shrugs.

‘Maybe not, but it’s good work and it’s related to my degree, so… I’ll take what comes with it, I guess.’

‘Sure, just… don’t overwork yourself, okay?’ Hanamaki points to his own face, fingers hovering near his eyes. ‘You look tired.’

Bringing a hand to the purple bags above his cheekbones, Matsukawa’s face splits into a strained smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Good.’ Hanamaki rocks back and forth on his feet, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. ‘But I’ll see you soon?’

Matsukawa’s smile relaxes and he nods. ‘You betcha.’

With that, they grin as they reach the station, and part with a wave, slinking off towards their homes. Once Hanamaki is out of the shower and in bed by midnight, he dreams of Sendai and of Matsukawa’s presence by his side, only to wake up the next morning with his heart heavy and mind brimming with memories of his seventeen-year-old self.

* * *

Hanamaki should have known their study session would end up like this: lying side-by-side on his bed, staring at the ceiling and giggling amongst themselves. They should be doing their English homework, memorising past, present and future tenses, but as Matsukawa’s giggles evolve into a loud, uncontrollable cackle, Hanamaki finds their decision to goof off to be the best one they’ve made.

When Matsukawa laughs, Hanamaki feels like the pieces of his world slot together. But when Matsukawa lets it come from deep within, slapping a hand against his chest and eyes scrunching shut, Hanamaki’s flying amongst the clouds. This is one of those moments, Matsukawa rolling onto his side and wheezing in a breath, mouth open in a humungous smile. Hanamaki can’t help but join in, curling into himself as he lets go, his laughter mixing in with Matsukawa’s.

‘Holy shit, that’s so fucking funny,’ Matsukawa chokes out, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘Oh wow, if you actually do that to them, I don’t think they’d ever forgive you.’

‘I think they would. They’ll get a relationship out of it,’ Hanamaki supplies while focusing on catching his breath. ‘At this point, I think forcing them to kiss would be the only way they’d acknowledge the fact that they like each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together. It’s painfully obvious and I just wanna do my bit, y’know?’

Matsukawa shoots him a knowing look. 

‘Sure, that’s the real reason,’ he teases, nudging Hanamaki with his elbow. ‘You just want to be an uncle, don’t ya?’

‘I’d be the _best_ uncle,’ Hanamaki preens. ‘It’s not my fault Nee-chan is too chicken to make it a reality.’

‘Well, if your plan goes well, it might come sooner than you think.’ Matsukawa grins. ‘I’ll help you, if you like. On one condition.’

Raising an eyebrow, Hanamaki gestures for him to continue.

Matsukawa’s eyes glint furtively.

‘When you become an uncle, that I am the honorary uncle-from-another-family and we co-uncle the kid.’

He splutters when Hanamaki flips his school tie into his face as a response.

‘That goes without saying, stupid.’

‘Was the tie necessary?’

‘Yes, yes it was.’

Although Matsukawa pouts at him, Hanamaki can see the simmering delight in his eyes. He’s about to comment that Matsukawa’s just as excited as he is when the sound of the front door opening and his sister’s voice travels into the room as she announces _I’m home!_

A gasp is ripped from his throat when her voice is followed by a deeper one calling out _pardon the intrusion._

He throws Matsukawa a sharp, wicked grin.

‘Wanna put that plan into motion now?’

Mastukawa doesn’t respond, but with the way he leaps from Hanamaki’s bed, there’s no need to.

(Half an hour later, Hanamaki’s sister’s cry of _Takahiro, I’ll kill you!_ echoes through the Hanamaki residence, paired with thumping footsteps as Matsukawa and Hanamaki race up the stairs to his room, Hanamaki carrying an open packet of strawberry Pocky in his hand and Matsukawa’s presence by his side.)

* * *

‘I’m fucked, Oikawa,’ Hanamaki mutters and runs a hand down his face. ‘I’m fucked, and it’s your fault.’

_‘How is this_ my _fault?_ ’ Oikawa shrieks through the receiver. _‘I haven’t done anything!_ ’

‘You have, you tool. You opened your big mouth and messed with my head.’

_‘Is this about Mattsun?_ ’ Hanamaki is horrified to hear a squeal. _‘Aha, so you_ do _like him after all! Oh, Makki, this is perfect then!_ ’

‘Fuck no, it’s not!’ Hanamaki groans. ‘Things were fine, okay? Things were fine before you put the idea that I might be _in love_ with my _best friend_ in my head and now it’s all I can think about!’

_‘I fail to see how that’s a bad thing_.’

‘Because I’m about to see him and I don’t know how to act around him anymore!’

_‘Easy,’_ Oikawa says matter-of-factly, _‘you confess to him slash subtly bring up the fact that things have changed between you. The rest should follow nicely!’_

_Yeah right_ , Hanamaki thinks inwardly.

As he passes through the living room, holding his phone against his ear, Hanamaki tries to tidy up as much as possible. Oikawa’s voice is nattering away as he bends down in between the coffee table and couch; he chucks a fallen cushion back onto said couch where it belongs and scowls.

It’s been a day: his job at the local chemist had seen some irritating customers and an even more annoying manager rostering him for shifts he can’t make. _I have classes on that day, I can’t come_ and _I’m not in Tokyo for the holidays, I’m going home to Sendai_ have been his most repeated phrases today, and pair that with a cut-short lunch break, a fallen over display of perfume bottles and a nine o’clock finish, it’s a small wonder that Hanamaki has a migraine the size of Japan. The only thing that has managed to keep him going all day is the promise of seeing his best friend, who should be coming over any moment now.

Matsukawa is staying over the whole weekend (hallelujah for a rare, mutually free weekend!), promising great anime recommendations and junk food. Hanamaki, however, has the inkling that their night is going to involve either Hanamaki falling asleep halfway through whatever they’re going to watch or putting his foot in his mouth and telling Matsukawa _everything_.

Or maybe it’ll end up in him leaving the apartment to find Oikawa and strangle him.

_‘Seriously, Makki,_ ’ Oikawa tells him, forcing him to listen, ‘ _I don’t know why you haven’t done something about this already!’_

‘Oh, so like you’ve confessed to Iwaizumi?’ Hanamaki challenges.

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line before Oikawa mutters, ‘ _Don’t be stupid. I don’t have feelings for Iwa-chan._ ’

‘Oh, really?’

_‘I don’t! Why would I? He’s my childhood friend.’_

Scoffing loudly, Hanamaki rubs the skin between his eyebrows.

He’s just about had enough.

‘Then who was it who got himself drunk while in Rio after he found that Iwaizumi was too busy to talk to him because he was studying with a _female_ classmate?’ Hanamaki snaps. ‘And who was it who then called _me_ in the middle of a lecture to cry about how Iwaizumi will never see him as anything more as a friend?’

The sound of something that seems similar to water being spat out comes from Oikawa’s end of the phone.

_‘I sure as_ hell _did not do that!_ ’ Oikawa cries, tone horrified. _‘Shit, Makki, I don’t have feelings for Iwa-chan.’_

‘Okay, keep lying to yourself then.’ There’s a knock on the door and Hanamaki’s head whips towards it. ‘Shit, Issei’s here, I gotta go—but don’t think this conversation is over, Oikawa.’

‘ _Yeah, whatever. Have fun with Mattsun.’_

‘Oikawa—’

The resulting _beep_ as the call ends makes Hanamaki want to throw his phone across the room. But he doesn’t, pocketing it and chucking his hands in the air instead.

He grumbles _frickin’ thick-headed bastard_ as he moves to answer the door, and when he does, he’s greeted with a bag-laden, grinning Matsukawa. The sight should make him smile, but Oikawa’s idiocy has Hanamaki mumbling out a quick greeting and stepping to the side as Matsukawa enters the genkan.

‘Hey…’ Matsukawa replies slowly as he shuts the door behind him, frowning and toeing off his shoes. ‘Is everything alright, Hiro?’

Hanamaki waves a weary hand. ‘Yeah, fine. Just Oikawa being an idiot as usual.’

It’s all he needs to say.

‘Is it about Iwaizumi?’

‘Yeah.’ Hanamaki sighs heavily. ‘He’s in denial that he has feelings for him. I told him to keep lying to himself ‘cause he’s not fooling me. He’s mad at me now.’

‘Well, I wish I could say I feel sorry for him,’ Matsukawa says wisely, following Hanamaki into the living room as they move out of the genkan, ‘but he’s done this to himself. But I guess you could have been kinder.’

‘Maybe,’ Hanamaki replies. He turns to Matsukawa and forces a grin. ‘But let’s not let him get in the way of a _great_ weekend. Watcha got there, my good sir?’

Matsukawa rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. Watching him reach into the backpack he slips off his shoulders, Hanamaki feels a bubble of delight when he pulls out and places on the coffee table what is _clearly_ a cake box (no doubt full of profiteroles), a stack of DVDs and a bag filled with snacks; Hanamaki can make out the white, yellow and blue packaging of _Yan Yan_ and several _umaibo_ sticks through the sheer plastic.

‘These should see us through until tomorrow night, I reckon,’ Matsukawa tells him, dropping onto the couch with a low, tired groan. ‘I want us to _at least_ get through to season two of _Bungou Stray Dogs_. Trust me, bro, it’s so fucking good.’

Everything about Oikawa escapes somewhere in Hanamaki’s head as he tackles Matsukawa into a hug that’s more limbs than an actual embrace; but that doesn’t deter him from crying _you’re the best, Issei, oh my god, I love you so much_ right into Matsukawa’s ear. It’s amazing how much Matsukawa’s presence makes everything horrible that had happened today just vanish into thin air.

But then he stills, horror rising up in his chest in a cold wave.

He really just said that out loud, didn’t he?

Hanamaki doesn’t get the opportunity to mull over the fact that he had just said _I love you_ to _Matsukawa_ , however, when he feels himself being slapped on the back.

‘I love you too,’ Matsukawa says with a chuckle, ‘but get off me, you’re heavy—’

‘I am _not!_ ’

Mastukawa laughs deeply and Hanamaki removes himself from his friend, heart pounding and nerves jittery.

They quickly fall into setting everything up: Hanamaki runs to the kitchen to get plates and a packet of tissues whilst Matsukawa takes out all the snacks he’s brought and goes about finding the first season of _Bungou Stray Dogs._ As they get it all in place and ready to go, they bounce questions to each other, back and forth like a volleyball in play.

(‘Hey, how was work today?’

‘Fucking awful. Long story. How about you?’

‘The client is all levels of annoying, but other than that, pretty good. Oh man, I gotta tell you about what happened at lunch…’

‘Yes, oh my god, please distract me—’)

Soon enough, the pair are seated upon Hanamaki’s couch, his laptop connected to his television and the DVD menu displayed on the screen. Matsukawa takes hostage of the remote— _I don’t want you to skip ahead this time! I know you love spoilers—_ and Hanamaki cradles the cake box to his chest, a single profiterole held between his fingers— _you suck, I hate suspense!_

The episode starts, the colours oozing from the screen and over everything in the living room. With the lights off, the furniture is equal parts multi-coloured and shrouded in darkness, the animation creating a splotched artwork upon wood, steel and cotton. Hanamaki can feel the excitement shooting off Matsukawa in waves, and he has to admit that the animation style looks pretty damn cool.

Yet even with the main character screeching loudly—Naka something… Nakahime? Nakajime? No, Atsu something—and the delectable custard filling covering his tongue, it’s not enough to distract Hanamaki. He finds his thoughts going elsewhere, going towards Oikawa and the conversation they’d had earlier; the main character’s voice becomes irritating and the custard feels like glue sticking to his teeth.

_Arsehole. Stupid, selfish arsehole_.

‘I can never decide if I like Kunikida or not,’ Matsukawa states, his voice muffled in Hanamaki’s ears. ‘His design is pretty awesome but he reminds me too much of Iwaizumi on a bad day, to be honest. I don’t know, what do you reckon?’

‘Hm, yeah… I can see that,’ Hanamaki replies flatly.

There’s a pause. Then he hears Matsukawa sigh softly and watches as the image on the screen freezes, showing three men sitting at what looks like a café table.

‘Your conversation with Oikawa is still eating you up, isn’t it?’

Hanamaki can’t deny it.

‘Sorry, Issei,’ he murmurs, shifting his position so that his legs are tucked to the side. ‘He’s just really pissed me off.’

‘Huh?’ Hanamaki turns to see Matsukawa’s face contorted in confusion. ‘I know he’s dense as hell, but he’s pissed you off how exactly? This isn’t exactly old news.’

It’s then that Hanamaki realises how close to the _I might have feelings for you_ edge he is. The primary reason he’s irritated is, after all, the hypocrisy of the entire situation. Who is Oikawa to tell him that he needs to address his feelings for Matsukawa when he himself hasn’t done it with Iwaizumi? But there’s no way he can tell Matsukawa this.

No way in hell.

What he manages to say after a quick moment of deliberation is, ‘I’m sick of him making excuses. I’m sick of both of them making excuses, if I’m gonna be honest. I don’t know… something Oikawa said rubbed me up the wrong way, and I don’t know if I’m insulted that he thinks we’re stupid enough not to notice how he feels about Iwaizumi or upset that he’s making this shit so difficult for himself.’

It’s not the whole truth, and not all of it is relevant to the phone call, but it sums it up: Oikawa is an idiot, Iwaizumi is an idiot, and they both need to get it together and do something about their bottled up feelings for each other.

(And preferably leave Hanamaki alone to sort _his_ feelings out for Matsukawa. Is he in love with him? Is he in love with the idea of it? He still doesn’t know… but he won’t deny he loves having Matsukawa around. He could appreciate the space, however, and not have Oikawa telling him to man up and go confess.

Shit, what a freaking mess.)

The conversation had been short, really, and barely anything was said aloud, but one didn’t need a magnifying glass to figure out what _was_ being said in the background; it didn’t take much of the implicit statements to make Hanamaki’s mind a state of angry static.

A pensive expression forms on Matsukawa’s face, dark eyes landing on something between their knees.

‘Well… I can’t say he’s right,’ he begins, tone careful, ‘but I can’t say the way either of you seem to be handling this is right, either.’

Groaning, Hanamaki mutters, ‘I know… but I just don’t know what else to say to him _or_ to Iwaizumi anymore.’

‘I don’t think anything we say is gonna change their minds,’ Matsukawa tells him with a snort. ‘They’re as stubborn as each other. But to be fair, I can see where they’re both coming from.’

Hanamaki sends him a sharp look.

‘What do you mean by that, Issei?’ He pauses. ‘You have a confession to make, too?’

‘Hah, not exactly,’ Matsukawa says. ‘But they’re both frustrated and overthinking things. This is something, I’m sorry to say, we cannot get them to get over. It’s up to them.’

There’s more to what Matsukawa says, and Hanamaki’s tempted to poke it out of him to see what it is, but Matsukawa’s talking again before he has the chance to.

‘In any case, you should text him or something. I do want you for myself this weekend, Hiro, Oikawa or no Oikawa, but I also want you to enjoy yourself, yeah?’ He grins at Hanamaki, resulting in a skip of his heartbeat. ‘So make up your mind. Dazai waits for no one!’

And he means it, grabbing the remote from where he’d placed it between his leg and the arm of the couch, and pressing play. The three men at the café table come to life, speaking hurriedly, and Hanamaki can’t help but breathe out a laugh.

Matsukawa has a point. So he shoves the rest of the profiterole in his mouth, gets a tissue and wipes his fingers, wriggling his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. Might as well get it over with now and get straight to the point…

Opening the messaging app, he types faster than he thinks (which may not be a good thing, but who cares at this point?):

**[Makki_Taka is online]**

**Makki_Taka**

Hey, I’m sorry about earlier

I’m just frustrated about you  
pretending you don’t want something  
more with Iwaizumi

It’s been years, man. You think we  
haven’t noticed?

I just want you to be happy,   
and I know Iwaizumi can do that

Sending the string of messages, Hanamaki refocuses his gaze on the screen. The scene has changed and he’s confused as to what’s happened so far; he wants to nudge Matsukawa and ask him for a quick summary, but he knows he’ll get a _you should’ve been paying attention_ , _Hiro_ from him.

The episode becomes even more confusing when Hanamaki’s phone vibrates in his hands, and he glances down at it in surprise. He sees Oikawa’s username in the notification, making his eyebrows rise further up his forehead.

_That was quick…_

He opens the message:

**Oikawa_Tooru**

Hey… I appreciate the apology

And you’re right, I guess… I don’t know,   
I guess I didn’t like being called out for it

It’s such an Oikawa thing to say that Hanamaki can’t bring himself to stay mad. Instead, he lets his thumbs fly over the keyboard.

**Makki_Taka**

Well someone needed to spell it out  
for you. We can be dumb sometimes,   
but we’re not blind, y’know

We’ve seen your heart eyes every time  
Iwaizumi smiles at you

I honestly don’t know how you haven’t  
thrown yourself at him yet

**Oikawa_Tooru**

First of all: I do not have heart eyes when he  
smiles. Second of all, I do have some self-  
control, thank you!

**Makki_Taka**

*at you

And I find that hard to believe

**Oikawa_Tooru**

I hate you

**Makki_Taka**

No you don’t

**Oikawa_Tooru**

Sadly

**Makki_Taka**

The audacity

But seriously, think about it at  
least. I think you’re overdue a  
confession, Oikawa

**Oikawa_Tooru**

Yeah… maybe…

I’m just scared

Chewing on his lip, Hanamaki risks looking up at Matsukawa. He’s absorbed in the television, frown deep and eyes unblinking. The colours of the scenes playing upon the screen dance across his skin in neon blues, yellows and pinks, and Hanamaki pictures his fingers dancing there instead of the fleeting glows.

Sighing to himself, he glances down at this phone.

**Makki_Taka**

Yeah

Me too


End file.
